The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [17]
Rommel thought of Africa, riding a tank straight into the chaos of a fight, seeing it for himself, the inspiration the men drew from that, and the enjoyment Rommel felt from the startled looks on the faces of his young lieutenants who thought they were in command. Where was Sasser when I needed this kind of man in Egypt?
“May I see your hands, Colonel?”
Sasser seemed puzzled, turned his palms up, glanced at them, then jutted them out toward Rommel.
“Certainly, sir. I do not understand—”
Rommel grabbed the man’s hands, looked at Ruge.
“Look at this. An officer who is not afraid to get his hands dirty. Or better yet, who raises blisters.” He released Sasser’s hands and turned toward an aide. “Go to the car. Retrieve a concertina.”
“Right away, sir.”
Rommel looked at Sasser again, the man still puzzled, and said, “Colonel, as you know, I have been inspecting the Führer’s impenetrable Atlantic Wall for some months now. When I arrived here, I was shocked by what I saw: the complete lack of urgency, the utter disregard for our Führer’s orders. I was given the responsibility, and the very specific instructions, that this coastline be made invulnerable to any assault the enemy could attempt. I have made every effort to carry out that order, to instill and inspire a sense of mission in these men. In you, Colonel.”
“Of course, sir.”
The aide had returned, handed Rommel a small accordion. Rommel held it out toward Sasser.
“You have done your duty, Colonel, and so this is for you. My gift. It is my way of showing you respect.”
Sasser took the accordion, squeezed the sides together, the sharp whine emerging. He looked at Rommel now, a broad beaming smile, then snapped himself again to attention.
“Thank you, Field Marshal! I shall treasure it always.”
“It is my hope that one day, when this war has concluded, the officers who have received these gifts might gather at some place and share their accomplishments. I would be very proud to be a part of that.”
“By all means. We shall make that happen, Field Marshal!”
Rommel paused, looked past Sasser, saw the work ongoing.
“You may return to your efforts, Colonel.” He glanced at Ruge, saw a slight smile. “I must resume my inspection.”
Rommel spun around, Ruge and the aide following, the men moving quickly along the path to the camouflaged tents. More of his staff were gathering at the cars, the rear doors of his car pulled open. In seconds, the two officers were in the car, the driver moving them back out into the countryside.
Ruge seemed energized beside him, and Rommel, knowing the man’s mood, waited for him to speak. After a short moment, Ruge said, “How many of those concertinas do you have?”
“More than enough, unfortunately.”
Ruge chuckled. “They would probably prefer medals.”
Surprised, Rommel looked at Ruge and shook his head. “I do not agree. Have you seen how many medals we are awarding now? Berlin is minting them faster than we produce artillery shells. Every officer on this front expects to receive one for his outstanding service to the Reich. Our officers have come to believe that loyalty to the Führer is the most valuable skill they can demonstrate. It is a deadly mistake. It will destroy this army.”
Ruge said nothing and stared out toward the fields, the car bouncing on the rough road. Rommel felt a familiar pain in his side, rubbed his hand inside his heavy coat, and looked at the two men in the front seat.
“Captain Lang, you are well aware that I value your discretion, is that not true?”
The man turned. “Most certainly, Field Marshal. Sergeant Daniel and I are occupied with other thoughts, always.”
Rommel smiled and tapped his driver on the shoulder. “I am not concerned about you, Sergeant.” He turned to Ruge. “The sergeant has proven himself to me on many occasions. Sometimes, I am not even certain he is capable of hearing anything at all. Are you deaf, Sergeant Daniel?”
“Yes, Field Marshal.”
Ruge laughed. “All right. My caution is unfounded. I meant no insult to your staff. But…concertinas?”
Rommel